


The Mirror

by byronsBritainiac



Category: The Legend of Zelda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:44:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byronsBritainiac/pseuds/byronsBritainiac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghirahim/Link. Rated Explicit for sexual reasons as well as a bit of language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_His face is in shadow, but I can still see the glowing red eyes, bright beneath his hood. He gestures lazily, beckoning me forward. I move closer, not daring to meet his eyes, keeping my face downturned. When I am directly in front of his massive throne, I kneel at his feet, still refusing to look into his eyes. Instead, I content myself with fixing my eyes a few inches above the hood of his cloak. He considers me for a moment – or at least, I think he does – and then inclines his head._

_"I require a favor."_

_My eyes finally snap up to his. "Anything, master."_

_"The Goddess has become a nuisance of late," says Demise, his voice low and measured. "I have grown tired of her meddling." He rises from his seat, and walks slowly over to the window, the hall's only source of light. I continue to stare up at him, waiting for him to go on._

_Gazing out of the window, he continues, "My patience with her is waning. I feel that it is at last time to put the Goddess out of action…permanently." He turns to me, face still hidden, but eyes still bright. "She has sent the Humans to live above the clouds, and summoned the five tribes of the Surface to do away with me."_

_"Master, surely, the Goddess is no match—"_

_"Do not interrupt me." He pauses, and stares straight at me. His eyes seem to penetrate me, to look directly into my soul. Then he continues, "You are, of course, correct. The Goddess is no match for me. But I must admit that the plan she has concocted is worrying."_

_"Master, what are her plans, exactly?" I venture._

_"She proposes to seal me away forever, where I can never harm her or her precious minions ever again." I can hear the anger building in his voice. It instills in me that ardent desire that has so possessed me lately; the desire to do all and be all I can for Demise. I must serve him dutifully, be his most faithful…_

_"Ghirahim, she will succeed."_

_My jaw drops as his words bring me out of my reverie. "S-surely not, master—" I begin, but Demise shoots me another look, and I instantly close my mouth._

_"She will succeed," Demise says again. "I am sorry to say that she has recently come into possession of a new weapon, one that is repellent to our kind." I watch as his hands ball into fists, and he turns away from he and toward the window again. "It is a weapon that we cannot touch."_

_No. This isn't happening. My master, the all-powerful Demise, thwarted by an invention of the Goddess? It isn't true._

_As though he's read my mind, Demise remarks lazily, "Yes, I, too, thought it impossible. What with my prodigious skill and strength, who could even dream of challenging me?" His eyes grow over-bright as he continues, still looking intently out the window. "But, I digress. There is, as I have said, a service I require of you." He turns back to me finally, and says, voice still measured, "You must resurrect me."_

_"Master?"_

_"When I fall, you must resurrect me," he repeats. "Consider it your new life's purpose. You shall succeed, or you shall die."_

_I gaze up at him, shocked, but manage to say, "Yes, master. Of course, I will."_

_Demise nods. "I knew you would be faithful, Ghirahim. But be assured," He turns away yet again, so that all I can see is his dark profile. "If you fail, I will ensure that you suffer for all eternity."_


	2. Chapter 2

I sit bolt upright in bed, shaking, cold sweat trickling down my forehead and back. It's the same dream I've been having for weeks, but somehow, seeing it again doesn't minimize the blow. Guilt settles into my heart like a stone. Guilt, for the promises I've failed to keep, for the master who I've let down, and for the mixture of ennui and idleness that I've allowed to control my life of late.

I detest idleness. Yet lately all I've been is idle. Each morning I awake with no purpose. The purpose I thought my life once had is gone, because of my own inexcusable failure, and it's been replaced by this incessant urge to do absolutely nothing about it.

Yet, guilt isn't the only emotion that's been plaguing me lately. I've had to come to terms with the fact that the master whose approval I craved, whose orders I followed to the hilt, and whose happiness was my obsession, is gone, and what I feel now isn't just a sense of loss. It's mourning – and it's different from any sadness I've ever felt before. What I do know, though, is that I descended into this listless depression when I no longer served a master. Demise gave my life at least a shadow of a purpose; he at least gave me a reason to get out of bed in the morning – a sense of motivation. He was all I had, truly – as my creator, and my master, he was the only thing that existed for me. His death has affected me more than I could ever have imagined.

It's as if he's left a hole in my heart. But I can't quite figure out what I need to fill it again.

Remembering all this wears me down. It grinds at my heart until I can't function. I have to suppress the memories that intrude into my thoughts. Every night the recollections creep into my dreams. I cannot push them away - no matter how hard I try. I am vulnerable. I am nearly human.

But, of course, I am not human. No, the flaws of humanity are far from my realm of demonic perfection. I am a beautiful monster.

I rise from my bed and walk slowly across the still-darkened room to the mirror. It is here that I spend most of my waking hours nowadays. My body is my only comfort now that Demise is gone. Though some might say an unfettered obsession with oneself is something of a vice, I disagree. With perfection as absolute as my own, why shouldn't I revel in myself?

Yet…something is different as I move to stand in full view of the mirror, so that my whole body is visible. Something about that fabulously pale and flawless form is…off. I ponder for a moment, wondering what it could be.

Perhaps I am too thin. I have neglected to eat much lately, though my food supply is virtually unlimited. Or perhaps it's that my hair is a bit dirty. The usually silky white strands are greasy and stringy. Showering has taken something of a back burner lately, as well.

Or maybe the trouble is on the inside. It's been a while since Demise's death—around six weeks, I think, but I lost count a while ago, so I can't be sure. But I'm still not accustomed to it and I doubt I ever will be. An awful, crippling loneliness has me in its grasp and it seems to me that there's no escape.

There was—is— always a part of me starving for affection. What I got from Demise wasn't exactly what you'd call affection – but it was, at least, something. The knowledge that someone needed me, even relied upon me, kept me going all that time I was in service to Demise. That, and the fact that I was practically chained to him anyway.

My devotion to Demise was more of an obsession, really. He was all I ever thought about – besides myself – and I committed my life to serving him. Not that I really had much of a choice, though – Demise created me specifically to serve him. I was his pawn, his dutiful and willing servant. Without Demise, I was nothing. But all the while I was serving him, I couldn't stop dwelling on a deep-seated need within me, like an instinct, for closeness. Naturally, I was drawn toward Demise. As my creator, my protector, and my master, for me he held an attraction that I still can't explain.

Of course, I wish I didn't feel this way. I wish Demise could have made me the way the Goddess made the Hero's companion, Fi. He could have created me to have no emotion, the way Fi is. She feels nothing. I would swap these feelings of loneliness, guilt, and bitterness for her mindless droning any day. Her function is to regurgitate facts, and to present probabilities - to aid. Shouldn't that be mine, as well? Should I not just serve my purpose, as a guide and a weapon, as she does? If it is – was – truly my sole purpose to aid Demise, then what is the use of having such a human-like heart, as I do? It brings me nothing but pain.

I still question why Demise gave me a heart that could feel, as opposed to none at all. I think I would have made a better servant without it. Maybe I would not have failed in my mission if I hadn't let childish emotions get in my way. Maybe that's why Fi succeeded, and I didn't.

I frown at my reflection, trying to retain my last vestiges of comfort. As I stare at myself, I remember Fi. The Goddess didn't bother to make her aesthetically pleasing; she only thought to make her useful. Demise thought better. He made me useful, certainly. But he also made me this creature of incredible beauty. In spite of the turmoil in my heart, I smile at myself in the mirror.

But when I finally tear my eyes away from the mirror, it seems as if there's nothing left. I have nothing left to live for, and no one left to die for. The empty feeling in my chest becomes a physical ache, and I fall to my knees on the richly carpeted floor, head bent, and eyes tightly closed. I dig my fingers into the carpet as the pain makes me want to scream aloud. I cannot continue like this. Surely, death is better than this.

I open my eyes a fraction and notice a bottle of blood-red liquid glinting invitingly at me from under the bed.

Though I have many vices, alcoholism isn't one of them. It's quite difficult for me to intoxicate myself in the first place – on a good day, it takes about three bottles of hundred-year-old whiskey to get me sufficiently plastered – so I usually don't bother with it. But today seems like a good day to break into the secret stash I've been hoarding under my bed, waiting for a special occasion. I reach toward the bottle, praying it isn't just a hallucination brought on by my current state of emotional instability.

My hand closes around the cool neck of the bottle, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Clutching it, I bring it out from under the bed, and examine it closely, wiping about a century of dust off the scratched surface of the glass. It's just as I thought. This is one of the bottles of wine from the Surface, when it was still populated by humans, meaning that it's probably about two hundred years old. I chance a glance under the bed, and find six more bottles – all unopened – of the same wine. I can't remember putting them there but I know for sure I've never delved into any of them before. I pop the cork experimentally on one of them and sniff hopefully at its contents. In all honesty, I don't much care what it tastes like, as long as it's strong as hell and gets the job done. Not even bothering to find a glass, I take a swig right from the bottle, and feel the old, familiar warmth settling into my body already. It burns my tongue and my throat but I keep drinking, and by the time I've finished the first bottle, my head is spinning.

I pass the rest of the day in a sort of drunken stupor, glad for an excuse not to leave my bedroom. I don't even remember to feel guilty about it, so for those few, blissful hours, my mind is completely blank as the alcohol runs thick and fast through my bloodstream.


	3. Chapter 3

_A boy stands before me, his eyes angry and determined as he draws his sword. He's just as I remember him; he wears the same, silly green tunic that I can only assume he's been bidden to wear. Even in his anger, he's quite good looking. His hair is gold and falls about his face almost carelessly. His skin looks almost dark next to my own pale complexion. The most striking feature of the Hero, however, is his eyes. They shine brightly even through the shadowy room we stand in and they're bluer than any sky I've ever seen. His cheeks are red and he's breathing heavily. I can tell he's poised to strike, but something tells me that he's wary, that he's hesitating. This time is different from the other times we've encountered each other. He seems even more cautious and mistrustful of me than before, but he doesn't move back when I step toward him, and I decide to press my advantage. Before I can say anything to him, however, he speaks first._

_"I know what you're here for," Link says quietly. "I know why you've come."_

_"Well, do inform me, because even I'm not quite sure why I'm here," I reply idly. He's never scared me before, and he doesn't now._

_"Firstly, you're lonely as hell," he begins in a clear voice. "Secondly, you're bored out of your mind without your master, and lastly," Link pauses, as though for emphasis. "You're sick to death of being Ghirahim."_

_"That's a lie." It's not._

_"Of course it's not. For someone so narcissistic, you're not too good with self-love." He grins widely, because he knows he's right. "I'm beginning to think you weaken progressively with every time we meet."_

_"YOU—"I move toward him, patience gone, but he stands his ground._

_"You didn't let me finish," Link says, still smiling. "Like I said, I know why you're here."_

_I fold my arms and wait for him to continue._

_"I think you know it, too. Deep down." He looks at me expectantly, and a little smugly. "Any guesses?"_

_"I'm stumped." My patience is waning again._

_"You're starving for just a bit of affection, Ghirahim. And you and I both know there's only one person left who can give it to you."_

My head feels like someone's come at it with a meat cleaver. I should have remembered that wine – particularly century-old wine – always delivers the worst hangover. I don't even open my eyes for a few minutes – I don't want to face the light, or the rest of the day, for that matter. I don't see what should make this day any different from yesterday, or, indeed, any day since the death of Demise. Especially as I've dangerously depleted my stock of alcohol.

As my head clears somewhat, I remember what I was dreaming about. Having a dream about someone other than Demise intrigues me, and I'm eager to investigate further. I can't help but wonder if it was just the wine, or whether it was my poorly suppressed subconscious trying to tell me something.

I wonder if I really do hate myself. Ordinarily, I would say, of course, that I absolutely do not hate myself, because I am the cunning, the flamboyant, the all-powerful Demon Lord Ghirahim. I have no time to hate myself.

Yet lately I find it hard to love myself as I once did. Or maybe I never did. Maybe I spent all those years cajoling myself into thinking myself perfect, untouchable…and the death of my master at the hands of someone as small and seemingly insignificant as Link has shaken me to my core. Maybe the death of Demise has brought forth insecurities I've been repressing for two centuries.

I rise from my bed too quickly, and stagger slightly as tiny lights pop in front of my eyes. I stumble blindly to the bathroom and bolt the door, leaning heavily against the cold wood, trying to steady myself. I'm starting to remember why I don't usually drink.

I strip clumsily, hands shaking, and move over to the shower, pushing the glass doors aside with some difficulty. I turn the taps as hot as they can go and step gingerly into the near-boiling spray. It hurts, and I can tell the water is very nearly scorching my skin, but I don't care. Standing stock-still, shoulders slumped and head-bent, I feel my body relaxing by degrees as I let the water pelt me and pool at my feet.

Closing my eyes, I begin to remember my dream. It seemed so vivid, so real, and I can still see Link, with his slight frame and piercing blue eyes, standing before me, wielding his sword and telling me things I don't want to hear. As I remember his face, something stirs within me, something I haven't felt in quite a long time. Shuddering, running my hands over my chest and arms, I can visualize in my mind's eye the way his lips turned up slightly at the corners, the way the light reflected in his hair. My heart skips a beat as my hand strays lower and lower and I feel the familiar tingling sensation spreading from my fingertips and pulsing through my whole body. I shut my eyes tight and breathe deeply. I know what's happening, and I can't do anything about it. Reluctantly, because I know it's traitorous, I wrap my quivering hand around my member, feeling it harden almost instantly beneath my fingers. I pump gently back and forth, imagining Link kneeling at my feet, taking me in his mouth. Now intensely aroused, I stroke myself feverishly, suddenly desperate for release. I lean against the wall of the shower for more support as I envisage Link running his tongue over my length. This feels so wonderfully wrong and it isn't much time before I'm breathing heavily and feeling my member throbbing in my hand. When I finally release, I cry aloud, watching in my mind's eye as Link swallows every drop and runs his tongue along the tip for good measure.

When I open my eyes again, a horrible, sinking feeling of guilt replaces the pleasure I was feeling not a minute ago. It weighs heavily on me as I watch my own seed drain slowly away. Feeling absolutely disgusted with myself, I wash my body and hair quickly and scramble out of the shower, dressing hurriedly and collapsing back onto my bed. I'm desperate to forget what I've just done. What would Demise think of me, if he knew I'd just gotten myself off thinking of the enemy?

Admittedly, Link as I remember him was a beautiful creature. I recall observing him and thinking about what a fine specimen he was – so strong, and seemingly unbreakable, and with such striking features, too. Whenever I saw him before, I nearly always thought what a pity it was that I had to destroy him. Now, though, he's just a vaguely annoying figment on the periphery of my imagination – a vaguely annoying figment, to which I also happen to be incredibly attracted. For the life of me, I can't understand why it has to be Link, my enemy, the person I spent the last six months trying to obliterate. Perhaps all along I harbored an indistinct sort of desire for him, but my ardent desire to fulfill my mission for Demise eclipsed it.

Then again, as last night's dream proved, I must long somewhere in my subconscious for some form of affection, for love, and maybe it's this, and not just sex, that I want from Link. After all, he presents something of a caring disposition, even if he didn't direct such a disposition toward me at all. Not to mention the fact that he's just about the only person left in the world with who I'm on a first-name basis.

None of this, however, excuses the fact that he is my sworn enemy. Whatever the changes in my feelings toward Link, I must never betray Demise. But, I remind myself, with some trepidation, Demise is dead. He's gone, and he's not coming back.

Of course, I know that's true, and that offers me a small degree of consolation. At least Demise isn't around anymore to see how vile I've become. It's a small comfort, I know, and it's pathetic. I can't justify anything I've done lately – not the listlessness, or the idleness, or the drinking, or the guilty fantasizing. None of it is excusable. Well, I think wryly. At least I'm properly ashamed of myself.


	4. Chapter 4

It starts slowly. I visit Skyloft in the dead of night, not even daring to enter the well-guarded Knight Academy. I sit, instead, on the high plinth in the hands of the Goddess statue, gazing fixedly down at the area of the building where I know Link must be sleeping. The irony of this is not lost on me; I think of how my master would punish me if he knew where I sat, literally in the hands of the Goddess, staring lustfully, longingly, at the enemy.

I continue this, night after night, for weeks, forgoing my usual eating and sleeping endeavors, only returning home when the sky turns from velvety purple to the smoky, pinkish-gray of dawn. I don't dare venture closer to the Academy than the statue of the Goddess. Consequently, I haven't actually seen Link yet. I know the chances of him venturing out after dark are likely slim, with so much nighttime surveillance. Once or twice, I've seen the yellow-clad knight who patrols the corridors venture outside, look around briefly, then return to his post. I wonder vaguely what he's looking for. The danger has passed, Demise is dead. What else have the Skyloftians to fear?

It occurs to me that Link has likely warned them that I might still be alive. My downfall was ambiguous at best, and, daft though he is, I know Link is at least sharp enough to realize that he hasn't seen the last of me. To venture into town, or to enter Skyloft in the light of the day, is far too risky. I must admit to myself, though, that these careful sojourns satisfy only the smallest portion of the desire burning in my heart.

After more than a month, that gaping, gnawing hole in my heart hasn't eased. If anything, it's intensified, grown bigger, with my nightly rituals. It dares me to push further, to approach the Academy, to throw caution to the winds and catch a glimpse of the golden-haired boy who plagues my every dream. When I can stand it no longer, I do just that.

As usual, under the cover of night, I sit upon my plinth, uncharacteristically nervous. Though I know I could use my power to disappear then reappear directly inside Link's room, the idea seems unwise. It seems best to sneak into the Academy slowly, to get a better understanding of the building's security. However, this night seems especially dark; the sky is moonless and there's a hush over the dimly-lit grounds of the Academy. All is quiet. Tonight I have come well-prepared, anticipating my descent into the village, dressing plainly in dark colors and hiding my hair and face under a hood and a thick balaclava. I gaze down at the sprawling building of the Academy, and my heartbeat quickens as I imagine Link, innocent, brave, beautiful, sleeping peacefully, without thought or fear. I entertain a slight twinge of envy for a moment as I imagine what it must be like, to live without fear, worry, or a gaping hole in the heart.

I decide I can't delay any longer, and begin my descent, footfalls making barely a sound on the soft earth covered by a smattering of grass which surrounds the statue. I approach the Academy cautiously, wary of the lights still streaming from some of the windows, measuring each breath as my excitement mounts. When I reach the Academy's great wooden double doors, I'm pleased and surprised to find the door miraculously unlocked. I hardly take it as a sign that tonight's excursion will be fortuitous; to drop my guard could prove a fatal mistake, and I don't want to risk this past month's careful watching and waiting.

Quietly, I edge along the corridor, passing by door after door. Each is labeled with a small nameplate, and I squint at them as I pass, my heartbeat quickening as I anticipate that the next door will be Link's. I meet nobody as I move through the hallway, and I wonder why I had been so worried in the first place. And then, suddenly, the door is in front of me, _his_ door. I stare at it for a moment, then press my ear against it, and swear I can hear his soft, deep breathing just beyond it. Slowly, painstakingly, I place a shaking hand on the knob of the door, and turn it as quietly as I can. Again, unlocked. I pray the door won't creak as I ease it open, and it doesn't. Quick as a flash, I slip into the room, and close the door again behind me, breathing a heavy sigh of relief and turning on the spot to find Link sitting bolt upright in bed, eyes open and wide.

"What the—"

_Fuck fuck fuck—_

I dash to Link's bed and slap a hand over his mouth, drawing the dagger on my belt and giving him a savage warning look.

"Don't you dare, _don't you dare_ ," I growl viciously, keeping my hand firmly over Link's mouth. trying hard to keep my voice even. Anger and excitement flood through my veins in equal measure.

I press the blade of the dagger against Link's bare neck, and remove my hand from his mouth. Immediately, he opens it wide and I know he's preparing a yell loud enough to wake all of Skyloft, so I jam the knife harder against his neck and mutter, "I know you know what's going to happen if you make so much as a peep, boy."

Link glares at me, but closes his mouth.

"Good," I say, drawing the knife away from his throat, where three tiny drops of blood bead along the cut I've made. I almost open my mouth to apologize, but think better of it, remembering the power I still have to wield over him.

I sit, perched stiffly on his bed and say, casually, "I didn't think you'd be awake."

"So," he whispers. "What was your plan, to come in here and watch me sleep?"

"Don't act like you're surprised, boy," I counter, attempting to regain my usual manner. "We both know you're smarter than that. Or," I amended nastily, eyeing him. "Perhaps not."

"I knew you weren't dead," he says, looking away and scowling. "I knew you'd be back. I knew it was just a matter of—"

"Smart boy," I interrupt. "I would have thought, though, that if you were anticipating my return, you might have ensured the security at your Academy might be a little tighter."

"What are you—?"

"Would you like to guess, Link, how many guards I passed on my leisurely traverse to your quaint little room?"

"I thought…" he trails off, then starts over. "I told Pipit to watch out for you."

"For me?" I ask in a sarcastic, sing-song voice. "I'm honestly flattered. I mean, obviously, I'm still as much of a danger to you as I ever was. But sending your friends to keep a lookout? You must really be frightened…"

"It's his job, idiot. Pipit is the night watchman." I feel an intense pulse of anger at his insult, but keep my temper under control.

"Sassy. And I thought you were polite."

"What do you want?" he demands, folding his arms.

"Want?" I ask, feigning surprise. "Come now, let's not dispense with the formalities. How have you been? Thriving, I assume? Unburdened by the weight of worry or—"

"What do you want?" he asks again stubbornly, bright blue eyes ablaze.

"Fine," I concede, dropping the act. "You want to know what I want?" He looks at me, impatient and expectant, so I continue, "Fine. I'm here because I'm bored, and you've always been my favorite toy."

Link looks surprised, and a little nervous. "So you aren't here for Zelda?"

I consider him for a moment. "Well," I begin. "Though your sweet young friend is certainly an easy target, I must admit the shine has rather worn off her since your most admirable defeat of my master." I give him a sarcastic nod of acknowledgment. "I don't have a use for her. And besides," I continue, smiling maliciously, "you're much more fun to play with. You put up a fight."

Link huffs, looking away again, arms still folded.

"Look at you," I say, spreading my arms wide in a parody of an open, embracing gesture. "You've hardly changed since I last saw you. You're just as obstinate and irritating as you were before. So handsome, too. No doubt you've been simply inundated with attention since your return. You must have girls begging for your hand left, right, and center."

Link blushes. I savor the color in his cheeks, and that I'm responsible; making him squirm fills my chest with the familiar heat of pride again.

"Tell me though," I continue, leaning a little closer. "Where is Miss Zelda? I'd have thought you would have her wedded and bedded by now."

Link's blush deepens. "She isn't here," he replies, avoiding my eye.

"Did she break your heart? Poor, poor heroic Li—"

"I turned her down," he says quietly, the color fading from his cheeks now.

For a moment, I'm stunned into silence, but I gather myself. "Understandable. The pressures of heroism are great, I am sure."

"I don't know why I'm talking to you about it," he mutters, gaining back a note of derision. "Firstly, I know you don't really care, and secondly, you're the sick bastard who tried to kill Zelda, so honestly I don't think you deserve to lick the dirt from my boots."

Again, the anger flares in me at his words, and again I suppress it. "Noted," I reply, examining my fingernails idly. "I would expect no less after that nasty business down on the Surface. However, now that some time has passed, I think we ought to turn over a new leaf, you and I."

Link rolls his eyes. "And what, kiss and make up?"

I open my mouth to retort, but his words send my imagination into overdrive, and I see, in my mind's eye, an elaborate scene in which Link accepts me without question, declares an undying attraction to me, and promptly decides that the best way to express it is to kiss me with passionate abandon. I shake my head, blinking, and the image fades, and I'm left with the real Link, looking sarcastic and wary, arms folded resolutely, eyes glowing, his golden hair messy…

I recover, shrugging. "Whatever you think is appropriate."

"I think it's appropriate for you to leave."

I get to my feet. "Have it your way, then," I say, moving toward the door. I'm disappointed, but unsurprised. I knew Link would not be receptive immediately, and, impatient though I am, I've prepared myself for the long haul. I know his resolve will need to be broken down before I can even dream of fulfilling my fantasies.

"Just like that? You're leaving?" Link looks heartily surprised.

"Oh, believe me, sky child, I'll be back," I say, and with a wink, I snap my fingers, and disappear.


	5. Chapter 5

Brimming with confidence and satisfaction, I return to my little island in the sky, flushed with my success. Seeing Link again, speaking to him, even touching him briefly, has reignited the spark of determination and passion in my heart. That innate sense of pride of purpose has returned, and my heart swells as I remember his final words to me. _“Just like that? You’re leaving?”_ Perhaps it’s my imagination, but I want to believe I heard a slight note of disappointment in his voice. Perhaps, without Zelda around, he, too, struggled under the burden of loneliness and listlessness. Link had been far more receptive than I could have possibly anticipated. He hadn’t even tried to grab his sword. I can’t help it; I laugh aloud, a real, genuine, happy laugh, and the sound reverberated around the wide, empty house. Such a joyous sound hadn’t been heard there for months. 

 

I’m so pleased with myself that I’ve nearly forgotten my guilt over the matter. My encounter with Link effectively erased all thought of Demise from my mind, which seems significant. Before, he and Demise seemed inexorably linked in my mind, two players in a never-ending game, bound by that same thread of fate that connected Link to me. Now that Demise is gone, however, separating the two of them in my mind comes easily. Too easily, almost. 

 

I bide my time over the following few days, planning my next excursion into Skyloft. I know he expects me now so I feel I can forego some of my precautions. When the night finally comes, I dispense with the balaclava, and opt simply for the dark, hooded cloak. It seems silly to keep my face covered this time. Why not allow Link to admire it again, this time in its full glory? 

 

I look in the mirror again before I leave. I can see the waxing moon, bright in the mirror’s reflection. I’ve dispensed with the usual layer of makeup, and though the customary shadows under my eyes are still there, they seem to have lessened somewhat. I notice, too, that my eyes are brighter, my hair shinier. My posture even seems better. I had forgotten how happiness looks on me. I look radiant. Satisfied, I give the bedroom one last sweeping look, then disappear with a flourish of my cloak. 

 

I reappear directly into Link’s room, but looking around, it’s clear he’s gone out. I sit down beside a neat pile of folded clothes lying near the pillow on his bed, and I surmise that he’s gone for a bath. I smile at the idea of him, wet, his hair dripping, his muscular form, naked…

 

My fantasy is interrupted suddenly as the the door opens, and Link enters, a towel wrapped around his waist, steam still rising from his damp skin. He turns and jumps when he sees me, clutching at his towel convulsively.

 

“Evening,” I say, smiling widely at his embarrassment. “Nice bath?”

 

“There’s seriously something wrong with you,” he says gruffly, striding over to his bed, blushing furiously, and snatching the pile of clothes from it. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I told you I’d be back,” I reply. “I’m a man of my word, Link.”

 

He stiffens at the sound of his name, standing stock still, clutching his clothes in one hand and his towel in the other. “You’re just going to sit there, and watch me dress?”

 

“Hmm,” I say, pretending to consider the suggestion as I feel an odd, swooping sensation in my stomach. _Get it together, for gods’ sake…_ “Are you suggesting that’s an option?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “I couldn’t care less if you just sit there, because it’s easy to ignore you. But I’m not interested in giving you a show.”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I quip angrily. “Are you always this rude to houseguests?”

 

“Do you always barge in, unannounced?” 

 

I pout at him, but he doesn’t concede. “Fine,” I say finally, turning away. “Get dressed, I won’t look.”

 

He pauses for a moment, then I hear him shuffling, removing the towel and hurriedly pulling his clothes on. He doesn’t say anything when he finishes, and I only turn around when I hear him move to the desk and sit. Stubbornly, he picks up a book at random and begins to read, but his eyes don’t move and I know he’s waiting for me to speak. 

 

After a moment, I ask, “So, where is Zelda? You never told me.”

 

Link doesn’t answer at first. He continues to stare resolutely at his book. Finally, though, it seems he can’t ignore me anymore. “Like I’d tell you.”

 

“Like I really care where she is. I’m just making conversation. It’s what polite people do.”

 

Link looks up, and considers me for a moment, then shrugs. “She’s not in Skyloft.”

 

“Has she gone to the surface, then?”

 

“They’re colonizing, she and her dad. But she’s well-protected, so don’t get any ideas,” he adds quickly, eyeing me mistrustfully. 

 

I give a derisive laugh. “I’ve already told you, I don’t have any use for her anymore. She’s as unimportant to me as if the whole business never happened.” 

 

“So Demise is dead?” 

 

My heart sinks. I’ve been avoiding the topic; partly because I’d like Link to believe I’m still a threat to him, but also in part because thinking about Demise only causes the weight of my guilt to grow. Finally, I answer, “Demise is gone.”

 

“Dead?” Link repeats, eyebrows raised skeptically.

 

“Yes, dead!” I snap, annoyed. “You saw it yourse—”

 

“So why are you still alive?” he asks insolently.

 

The interruption makes my blood boil, so I choose my words carefully and reply in a deliberately calm, measured voice. “He created me, but I wasn’t bound to him like Fi is to you. He made me as a servant to him but I continue to exist even after my purpose is served.”

 

“What’s your purpose now, then?” he asks. He doesn’t know it, but the words sting.

“I’ve told you. My new target is you.”

 

“Why?”

 

I laugh. “You’re thicker than I remember. I like toying with you, remember?”

 

“You said you were bored,” Link says pointedly.

 

“That, too.”

 

Link continues to look fixedly at me. His gaze is so intense that I’m tempted to look away, but I don’t. 

 

“So you aren’t going to hurt me?” he asks finally.

 

“No,” I say flatly. “Not physically, anyway. I don’t want to mar that pretty face of yours.”

 

Link blushes again, and looks away.

 

“Let’s go out,” I say suddenly, jumping to my feet. “It’s a pity to sit around and waste a night as gorgeous as this.”

 

Link stares at me blankly. “Go…out? Where?”

 

I shrug. “You’ve got a tavern, don’t you? Come, have a drink with me.” 

 

“I’ve just had a bath,” he replies lamely. I can tell he’s playing for time. 

 

I roll my eyes. “Is that the best you can do?”

 

Reluctantly, Link gets to his feet. “Fine,” he says. “But no funny business. And don’t let anyone get a good look at you. They don’t know what you look like but I’m not taking any risks.”

 

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”


	6. Chapter 6

I watch with some amusement as Link pokes his head surreptitiously out the door, craning his neck to look for the night watchman. Apparently satisfied, he ducks his head back into the room and says, “Come on. It’s clear.”

 

I follow him into the hall with mounting excitement. He must sense it because he turns and hisses, “If you get me into trouble—”

 

“Are you threatening me?” I demand, with an affected little gasp.

 

“Shut up!” 

 

But Link needn’t have worried; we pass through the corridor without incident, meeting only a cat, which Link acknowledges as simply, “the headmaster’s”.

 

We finally reach the door leading outside, and he pushes it open, pausing first to deliver a filthy look in my direction. I snort disdainfully and follow. His childishness irritates me far less than it amuses me.

 

Outside, the air is warm and pleasant. The soft sound of crickets chirping mingles with the distant roar of the waterfall. 

 

I turn to him and watch as Link gazes around, apparently distracted. We’re so close now that I can see the freckles on his cheek, and smell the vestiges of soap from his bath. He smells so good, so invitingly _human_ , that I can hardly stop myself from pulling him closer and burying my face in his chest. He seems to notice me staring, because he turns to me, and looks me full in the face, and his eyes are so bright, so breathtakingly blue, that I’m momentarily transfixed.

 

It happens quickly, in no more than a second. I lean in and press my lips against his in the briefest, softest kiss. Link loosens for a moment, his body relaxing and his mouth softening against mine. When he pulls back, his eyes are wide, but he says nothing. The look on his face is so shocked that I’m tempted to laugh, but instead, I turn away, feeling a sickening mixture of embarrassment and guilt. _What are these human feelings?!_

 

Link gives a jerky nod, apparently indicating we should keep moving.

 

“You’re not riding on my bird,” he announces suddenly, after walking some distance ahead.

 

I stop in my tracks, seething. “Wow,” I retort, trying to inject as much sarcasm as possible into my words, still contemplating what I’ve just done and wondering if I’ve made a fatal mistake. “What a tragedy. I guess that’s it for us, then. And to think, I was laboring under the delusion you and I would enjoy a nice, pleasant ride together on that mangy, winged catastrophe you call a bird.”

 

Link doesn’t like that. He opens his mouth angrily but I cut him off. 

 

“You forget that I, unlike you, am blessed with infinite and impressive power that frees me from the burden of your human limitations. So I, unlike you, don’t need a horrendous, feathery beast to transport me when I travel places.”

 

I take great pleasure in watching Link’s face grow progressively redder. His anger doesn’t intimidate me; it makes me crave him more, and I suddenly realize how much I enjoy goading him.

 

“Tell me, Ghirahim,” he says, rounding on the spot. I suppress a shiver of pleasure when he says my name; even in his anger, it sounds good on his lips. “How does it feel knowing there’s not a soul in the world who cares about you? Tell me, because I wouldn’t know. Because I, unlike you, have people who care about me, because I, unlike you, know how to treat people I care about.”

 

In a flash, my hand is around his throat and my face is inches from his. I haven’t meant to, but with the force of my grip, Link is actually lifted a few inches off the ground. He gasps and sputters, but I don’t let go. 

 

“Don’t you _dare_ speak to me like that.” The searing heat of anger pulses through me as I watch him struggle to breathe, his face slowly turning from red to an ugly puce color. His words cut deeper than he knows. I throw him to the ground and look on mercilessly as he gasps for breath, his hands fumbling around his throat.

 

After a moment, he staggers to his feet, his eyes over-bright, pointing an angry, still-shaking finger at me. “Get out!”

 

I laugh again, mirthlessly and maliciously this time. “Of course!” I retort. “Of course I’ll go. But first, I think I’ll saunter back to your quaint little Academy and let Pipit know I’m here. And also,” I continue with a spiteful look. “And I’ll make sure to let him know you kissed me, too.”

 

Horrified, Link freezes in the act of steadying himself. “You wouldn’t—”

 

“Wouldn’t I?”

 

The terror in Link’s face is plain. I take a savage pleasure in threatening him. 

 

“So,” I say, in a businesslike voice, as though nothing has happened. “Why don’t we move along? I’d love a drink, wouldn’t you?”

 

Link hesitates for a fraction of a second, then begins to walk again. “You’re a sociopath,” he mutters, almost inaudibly.

 

I shrug mockingly. “That’s not even the worst thing you’ve called me.”

 

When we reach the edge of the village, I hold out my arm to stop him.

 

“Grab hold,” I advise, gesturing out at the vast, inky expanse of sky. Link looks skeptical, mistrustful, but takes my arm all the same. His touch shocks me a little; his hand is so warm, and it feels so friendly against my skin that I forget myself for a moment, lost in the feeling. 

 

He blinks at me expectantly. I shake my head a little, then snap my fingers, and together, we disappear.


End file.
